


consequences fade if you don't care at all

by raikkonen (armario)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/raikkonen
Summary: Every time he thinks Charles can't get any worse, he outdoes himself.[Japan, 2019].





	consequences fade if you don't care at all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinkster (gotvodka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotvodka/gifts).

> For @kinkster (gotvodka) who wrote this masterpiece: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938436

"Max."

That's the last accent on Earth he wants to hear right now. He feels like taking a blind swing. Instead, he turns slowly around and lets the audacity of this guy wash over him in waves of serene acceptance until he can trust himself not to throttle him.

His hands would fit pretty perfectly around Charles' neck, he's sure of it. He refrains from physically shaking that line of thought away and instead raises his chin expectantly. 

_Yes?_

"Can I do something?" Charles asks. His eyes flicker down the length of Max's body and back up again, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

He was trying to play it cool but his jaw drops. Every time he thinks Charles can't get any worse, he outdoes himself.

"You're insane. I don't want to have sex with you. I want to beat the shit out of you."

Charles clicks his tongue, raises his eyebrows. "Okay," he says slowly, "So do it."

The depth of his anger towards Charles scares him. How someone so pretty and sweet and small can make the fury gnaw through his skin and flood into his very bone marrow. It would be so easy to fist his hands in Charles' shirt and slam him against the wall; grab him by his hair and force his head back till he begs for forgiveness. 

Max is actually petrified he'll end up doing that. That he'll snap, a lapse in judgement, that ends with Charles concussed, unfocused and mirthful, and the reflection in the mirror will start to look more like his father every day. 

"I'd never sink that low," Max answers measuredly, but he slides his hands into his pockets to hide the tremor running through them.

There's no one that's ever made him feel this angry. He's hit or pushed people around, nothing to be proud of, just being a headstrong, immature kid, but what his hands itch to do to Charles terrifies and confuses him beyond belief.

"You're driving dangerously," he says.

Charles scoffs as though he forgets he's here to apologise. "And you don't?"

"I drive aggressively. You drive recklessly. Irresponsibly. You don't care what happens to yourself and you don't care what happens to anyone else."

Charles grits his teeth. He folds his arms. 

Max shakes his head, pitying. "You're fucked up. I don't even think they should let you drive."

"Take that back," Charles hisses. He points a finger at Max's chest. "I deserve to be here more than you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Max laughs coldly.

"I'm better than you!" Charles exclaims, a little too loudly. Max starts to feel uncomfortable with the weight of too many curious gazes fixed on them, it's way too public to be having this conversation here, but Charles enjoys spotlight and probably gets off on being verbally reprimanded in front of the entire Red Bull crew. The moment it had clicked in Max's mind that Charles was baiting him to get angry, his entire way of dealing with his rival had changed. 

He set his mouth in a thin line, letting Charles' outburst linger unanswered and speak for itself. What was the point in arguing, anyway? 

The stewards would decide who was at fault today. 

*

"I hope you're happy," Charles tells him viciously.

"It's P7, mate. I didn't even finish. Save us the pity party."

Charles stares at him. He always looks so disheartened and confused when Max doesn't react, like a spoilt child who can't cope without undivided attention. Max looks past him, staring at a point over his shoulder, tired, and honestly sad, that he once hoped he could break the mold and get along with his rival off the track.

"Max," Charles says imploringly, kneeling brazenly in front of where Max is sitting. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Apologise like a normal person."

"I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it. And if you don't, don't even say it."

Charles frowns. "I _am_ sorry. I ruined your race. It wasn't on purpose but I should have been more careful."

Rehearsed. Empty. Sycophantic.

Max looks into his eyes, searching for any kind of authenticity. There's nothing. Just a faint trace of tense anxiety that Max will see through him.

Why does _Charles_ have to be so fast? Why is it_ Charles_ he's destined to lock horns with forever? Couldn't it be someone more human, more manageable? 

He sighs, unimpressed. "I'll see you around, then."

Charles flinches, looking away in bitter disappointment. He gets unsteadily and ungracefully up off his knees, brushes them off, and walks away. 

What was he expecting? That he could just bat his eyelashes and Max would say _don't worry, sweetheart, I forgive you; you can fuck me, or my race, whenever you want._

That's what Charles does. It works on everyone else but it will never work on Max. That's why, grudgingly respectful and masochistically curious, Charles always comes back to him. 


End file.
